


Unintended

by Songofpsalms297



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: And yours is safe with mine, Enemies to friends to eventual lovers, F/M, Surprise! My heart is safe in your hands.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-12
Updated: 2017-01-12
Packaged: 2018-09-17 01:23:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9297971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Songofpsalms297/pseuds/Songofpsalms297
Summary: Morrigan and Alistair have a chat.





	

**Author's Note:**

> While working on some of my other stories, I was struck by the thought that some of Morrigan's acerbic wit is self-defense. She's been stuck in the woods with Flemeth for company for most of her years. Can we say "incredibly socially awkward girl"? And (at least to me) Alistair is kinda dreamy. And my brain posed the question, "What if she is attracted to him, but has no idea of how to convey that, but she is also terrified of being mocked for her feelings." And my brain came up with this...well there is more...eventually.
> 
> This is less a ship for me, and more an exploration of potential relationships and personality types.
> 
> I hope you enjoy it!

Humiliated tears tearing their way down her cheeks, she stormed off.  Damn him. That touch of grief that appeared in his eyes when he rebuffed her. She’d seen the way he looked at her out of the corner of his eye. His silent appraisals. The way the corner of his mouth turned up when she’d succeeded with a particularly tricky verbal volley. His nod of approval whenever she stepped outside of her comfort zone to speak to someone she wasn’t comfortable with. And, ugh, people were, uncomfortable. And idiots. And why all the need for touching? He had drawn her out of herself, laughed, teased his way into her heart. Damn him! And just when she had gathered the scraps of courage she could find within her heart, to, offer. To invite. He had taken her heart, her hope, and dashed it.

Why had he bothered to breach her defenses? He had met her mother. He knew, had taken the time to draw her out of her snarky, wary shell. Over time, he had slowly dismantled the wall she had erected around herself. When they had first met, he had risen to the occasion and returned snarky volley for sarcastic barb. The gentle humor in his eyes as he bantered with her was what had begun to draw her in. To coax her out of herself. To begin to follow those very tiny tendrils of trust, to venture getting to know him, to allow someone else to catch a glimpse of her heart. To see something beyond the persona she projected to the world around her.

And finally, after a year of grueling trials, redemptions, and world shattering changes. She had gathered up her resolve. She had drawn him away from the others, just like they had done. They had ostensibly gone for another walk to gather herbs, berries, and other safe consumables. Increasing their healing stores. She had taken her knapsack, so she could gather spider webs to help stop profuse wound bleeding. She knew that he had suspected something, just by how cagey she had been in his presence. Her side of their banter returning to the cutting, nasty tone that had accompanied their very first meeting. Damn her mother for imbuing her with suspicion, and fear of her fellows’ motives.

 Taking an alternate route to her tent that would allow her to return to camp unobserved, she closed her heart to his voice calling to her. She couldn’t face him now. Not when, no.  She would return to the meadow to collect the blanket and collection basket. Angrily dashing her tears away, she stormed closer to camp. Why had he rejected her invitation? He knew her feelings by now, had told her as much when he caught her by the waterfall last week. Heat suffused her, and her treacherous heart leapt, at the memory of his hand cupping her cheek, gentle pressure a request to look him in the eye. Her heart racing as she remembered how he had lowered his head to brush her lips with his. His eyes giving her the power to accept, or reject his advances. She knew by his own admission, as the water sprinkled them both while they stood behind the waterfall. He had told her that he loved her when they danced in the waterfall’s rain last week, yet, today he had refused her request to take their relationship farther than those sweet kisses. Shut her down mercilessly.

His stumbling attempt to say no intermingled with her heart’s agony, and damn him, she wanted this pain to turn to hate so she could wield it as a better weapon. She wanted to curse him, and all the time he had spent getting her to come out of her shell. Did he just want to cut her more deeply than all the others? Even as the thought came, she knew the truth. He loved her. Damn his duty to others. Damn his never-ending supply of compassion, damn his nobility. He would sacrifice his happiness, and hers for the good of the ignorant masses. Fools who would blunder about their idiotic lives with no idea the cost of their freedom.

A mile out from camp, she had slowed enough, and had calmed enough when his hand caught her arm, she didn’t strike him. Her eyes glittered with hurt, and anger. Tears making diamonds on her lashes. He sighed. The weight of his grief palpable.

“I don’t want this. I don’t want to be king, you know that I love you. It is killing me seeing you in pain.”

“Are you certain? Are you sure it isn’t shame at being tied to an apostate that shadows your – “

“Damn your foolish, bitter heart. I love you.” Despite the vehemence in his words, his hands were tender as he reached out. Cupping her cheek, an echo of their first kisses. “Morrigan,” Alistair sighed. “I will not suffer your destruction by the nobility of Thedas.” His voice deepened as he whispered, “you are my heart. I won’t lose you if I don’t have to.” Her heart lightening at his words, she rested her forehead against his, leaning into his embrace.

Insecurity infusing her words, she ventured, “Mother taught me a ritual. It traps the old god’s essence into a new, untainted vessel.” She felt him stiffen, “How?”

Clearing her throat, and mustering her courage to look him in the eye, “The eve before the battle, we,” coughing she glanced away from him, blush creeping up her cheeks, “join together. I will become pregnant, and the essence of the old god will suffuse the child.”

His eyes uncertain, glitter with emotion she cannot classify. “We would have a child? Together?” At her tentative nod, a joyous grin split his face, “Let’s prepare to defeat a dragon then!”

“What about your claim to the throne?” Wincing as fear of abandonment sharpens her tone.

“Arnora will do just fine, and since I am already a gray warden, I have the taint to consider. I wouldn’t be able to give Arnora an heir anyway.” He chokes briefly, “That I can have a child with the woman who holds my heart is more than I ever thought I could have.”

Hand in hand Morrigan and Alistair walk back to camp to make preparations for the final battle for Denerim.  
 


End file.
